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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095956">Still Dreamin'</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalsandMordred/pseuds/MusicalsandMordred'>MusicalsandMordred</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eventual Fluff, M/M, Pining, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:13:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalsandMordred/pseuds/MusicalsandMordred</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre likes to think he is very good at hiding his feelings, but sometimes he lets his guard down enough to watch his best friend sleep (and feels like a total creep when he does.)<br/>Snapshots of Combeferre watching Courfeyrac sleep throughout the years they've known each other (and pining like a sap, of course.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Too Soon to Say Goodbye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not at the beginning of his feelings, but not long after, Combeferre is forced to deal with the impending separation from his friends.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Fourteen Years Ago</em>
</p><p>“ ‘Ferre! Get in here! I wanna pick a movie and I need your help.”</p><p>At the sound of Enjolras’ shout, Combeferre turns to look at his other friend standing in front of the oven. Courf is intently staring at the timer above the stove and doesn’t even return his look to respond.</p><p>“Go help him choose. I’ll bring the pizza down when it’s done.”</p><p>“Are you sure you’re ok up here without me?” Combeferre asks. “Wouldn’t want to leave you to burn the house down in my absence.”</p><p>“Screw off,” and Courfeyrac, literal five-year-old that he is, sticks his tongue out at Combeferre. ‘Ferre flips him the bird and saunters off to the stairs, ignoring the other boy’s mock gasp of outrage.</p><p>Combeferre finds the third member of their sleepover party downstairs in front of the flat screen, trying to choose a movie between the never-ending DVD collection and digital orders Courfeyrac and his parents have queued up. Enjolras is flipping through lists of documentaries on Demand with impressive speed.</p><p>“I have it narrowed down to one about the First Nations history with colonialism in Canada and one about the bloodiest revolutionaries throughout history,” he says as a way of greeting. Combeferre groans.</p><p>“Enj, we do a lot of that on a regular basis. Tonight’s special, we should watch something fun.”</p><p>Enjolras, at fifteen, is not yet so grown up to be above pouting (he also knows what an angelic visage his pout is; ‘Ferre thinks at least three girls have written poems about it throughout their middle school years.)</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> suggest then?”</p><p>Combeferre grabs the remote and exits out of the On Demand que. Then he turns around to rummage in the bins behind them under the coffee table.</p><p>“Oh God,” he hears Enj mutter, but he ignores him and pulls out the VHS he was looking for.</p><p>“Can we watch this?” he asks. Enjolras tries to give him a hard stare, he tries his hardest, ‘Ferre can tell, but ‘Ferre is also pretty good at getting what he wants when he decides to use his many charms (big eyes and dark eyebrows work wonders when logic won’t).</p><p>Enjolras relents. “Fine. But don’t try to pretend we both don’t know why you want to watch <em>that</em> movie in particular.”</p><p>Combeferre’s stomach does a flip; he busies himself with prying the VHS out of its case and placing it reverently in the player. He is further saved from having to answer because Courfeyrac comes down with the pizza dish in one hand and paper plates and cups balanced in the other.</p><p>“Food’s ready!” he chirps. “And it’s not even slightly burnt.” When Combeferre doesn’t immediately rise to the bait (still getting his flustered-ness under control) Courf tries again. “Combeferre. Note that the house still remains standing around us.” And Combeferre does turn at that, unable to help but smile at Courfeyrac’s dramatic flourishes. He pointedly ignores Enjolras’ equally pointed look, turning on the VHS player instead.</p><p>“Ooooooooooooooh!” Courf squeals. “<em>The Rescuers Down Under</em>, my favourite!” He runs over as fast as he can with the food in his hands and sets it down to squeeze the fuzzy blue pillow that is a staple at all sleepovers he hosts (it’s long enough for the three boys to all use to sleep, and it feels like what sleeping on clouds must feel like to Combeferre.)(Of course he knows you can’t sleep on clouds but he’s always wished you could.)</p><p>“I wanted to watch a documentary, but ‘Ferre said we had to watch something special because tonight is ‘important’.” Enjolras is still pouting, but it’s all fun and games now. Courfeyrac’s eyes soften at Enjolras’ words, but he doesn’t say anything. Combeferre has always been able to read his two best friends better than even all the library books he checks out, and just as quickly. Courf doesn’t have to say thank you, it’s there to read in his intense gaze.</p><p>‘Ferre nods to Courfeyrac, not wanting to make the moment weightier than it needs to be. Tonight <em>is</em> special: it’s the last night the three boys are going to be living this close to each other. Courfeyrac’s family is moving across town in a week, and Enjolras leaves tomorrow for his summer vacation home in Cape Cod. Tonight is the last night the three of them will be together for the bulk of the summer, and in the fall Courf will be in a different school district. And they will all begin high school. Combeferre can’t help but feel like everything is changing, like the world has just started spinning a tad too fast and he has to run so as not to trip and fall off the edge.</p><p>But he doesn’t want to think about the impending goodbyes just yet and it’s clear the others don’t either: Enjolras stands to dim the lights and grab blankets while Courf keeps staring at Combeferre with soft and slightly sad brown eyes. Then they sit down to watch the Disney movie, trying to pretend that things aren’t changing for a little while longer.</p><p>It’s hours later, and Combeferre is still thinking about the look Courf gave him and what it might mean. He is fluent in the language that is Courfeyrac – he could probably teach a whole workshop on what Courf says with his eyes alone – but what has quickly been dubbed as ‘The Look’ in his mind is puzzling him. Combeferre doesn’t like to be puzzled. Not for too long, at least, and certainly not where Courfeyrac is concerned. ‘Ferre can’t help the sigh that escapes him: as if he’s been anything but puzzled in regard to Courfeyrac lately.</p><p>He stares at the other boy sleeping beside him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Courfeyrac always breathes so high and fast because that’s how he always talks (yes ‘Ferre knows his breathing patterns, shut up!) but it is mesmerising to watch the deeper breaths that come with sleep. It is mesmerising to watch Courfeyrac period, but Combeferre doesn’t let himself do that often, hasn’t let himself do that since the end of seventh grade when he realized <em>why</em> he was so captivated.</p><p>‘Ferre studies his crush now, imaging what it might be like to touch Courf’s bouncy curls, so much darker and looser than Enjolras’, and far longer than Combeferre’s own hair. He traces with his eyes the slope of Courf’s nose to his lips. Lingering there feels too intimate, even now in the middle of this still night where no one can catch him. Back up to the nose then. Combeferre thinks it looks like the noses all the Renaissance sculptors gave their masterpieces, strong and long and straight.</p><p>Parceling Courfeyrac’s face into pieces like this makes it easier to take in and appreciate (in those rare stolen moments Combeferre feels he can admire his friend without being too creepy.) Otherwise, everything that is Courfeyrac completely overwhelms ‘Ferre. Courf is so big and bright and boisterous, so free and loud that he is overwhelming even without the whole “feelings” aspect added in. And when it is added in…well, ‘Ferre parcels his friend’s attractiveness into individual parts and pieces, otherwise he will be overwhelmed and will completely give away his feelings with one look <em>or</em> ruin his and Courfeyrac’s relationship for good. Or both. Both is a distinct possibility.</p><p>Courfeyrac stirs slightly and Combeferre freezes. Is he waking up? No, the other boy just rolls over and buries himself further into his sleeping bag. He is now face to face with Combeferre, and just close enough that, had they been awake, it would have been too close to be comfortable. But they’re asleep, or Courf is rather, and ‘Ferre has it bad for one of his best friends that is soon to be moving away. Nothing could make any of this more uncomfortable for Combeferre. Maybe he’s just destined to always feel this way about things.</p><p>He stares at Courf for a moment more, wondering if he dare move – whether he wants to be further or closer he is unsure. In the end, he just closes his eyes, feeling Courfeyrac’s warm breath brush past his nose. Enjolras is snoring on the other side of Courf, but they both have enough practice tuning him out that Courf stays asleep and Combeferre falls into sleep more readily and happily than he is sure he will for a while to come.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Another Day Colder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Eight years later, and Combeferre and Courf are finishing their undergrad degrees in university. Final exams are difficult, sleep schedules are shit, and pining for your best friend DOES NOT help anything.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Six Years Ago</em>
</p>
<p>Combeferre moves his book bag out of the way as Courfeyrac slumps into the seat beside him.</p>
<p>“Rough day?”</p>
<p>Courf only grunts in response.</p>
<p>“That bad?”</p>
<p>“That long.”</p>
<p>Combeferre nods in agreement. Just because he’s survived six university exam weeks before doesn’t mean he knows how he did it. It’s clear Courf feels the same as he stares past Combeferre and out the shuttle window. His eyes are not latching onto any of the Christmas lights on house-fronts like usual but just gazing blankly.</p>
<p>“What time were you up until last night?” Combeferre asks softly. When Courfeyrac is this tired, you have to treat him like an easily startled animal otherwise the aftermath will not be pleasant.</p>
<p>“Three.”</p>
<p>“Courf…”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m getting home at a decent hour tonight, aren’t I?”</p>
<p>They were. It was practically unheard of for any of them to make the 5:30 shuttle back to residence during the week – it usually ended up being more like 7:30 or 8. Enjolras was still at the school, he couldn’t be pried away from his essay on Ethical Practice in Law, but Courf called it quits in favour of helping ‘Ferre study in exchange for his special spaghetti dinner.</p>
<p>“Is Marius coming over tonight for dinner?”</p>
<p>“Hmmmm?” Courfeyrac’s head was on its way down to rest on Combeferre’s shoulder, so ‘Ferre immediately regrets asking his question: it causes that much-loved head of black curls to jerk back up and away. Courf blinks bleary eyes at his friend.</p>
<p>“No,” he finally replies. “The jerk finished his paper with Cosette’s help. They’re off at her parents’ house in hope of endearing Marius to them further.”</p>
<p>“Even after he broke M. Valjean’s sliver candlestick set the last time?”</p>
<p>Courfeyrac nods. His eyes are already drifting shut again. Combeferre wonders just how many 3:00 AM nights his friend has pulled in a row, chiding himself on not forcing Courf to take better care of himself. But between keeping his own roommate from staying at the library 24/7 to looking after himself… ‘Ferre has had his hands full!</p>
<p>“Here,” ‘Ferre whispers, pulling his beanie off his head and turning it inside out to display the fluffy lining. He lays the hat on his shoulder, then leans against the windowpane and brings Courfeyrac’s curly head down onto the beanie-wearing shoulder. The other student barely mumbles out a “bless you to infinity and beyond” before snuggling closer and sighing into ‘Ferre’s neck.</p>
<p>And even though Combeferre still has five more finals to go, and dinner to make when he gets back to his room, and a tutoring session with a first year tomorrow morning at 8, and even though the wind is howling and the shuttle is moving at the exorbitant pace of an aged snail, he is now <em>in</em> <em>Heaven</em>.</p>
<p>He can’t really watch Courf sleep, not while his face is buried in Combeferre’s neck, but he can feel it and that is ten times better. Courf is in desperate need of a haircut and his curls are soft and long, a contrast to the itchy scruff he has (he didn’t shave today or yesterday, it would seem.) It’s all so perfectly Courfeyrac. The kick in his stomach is enough to inform Combeferre of what he already knows is blatantly true: he is head over heels, maybe more so with the exhaustion making everything that much <em>softer</em>. Head over heels, then over the head again.</p>
<p>He’s going to have to store this moment away to remember, because since Courf has started seeing Azelma, opportunities to watch him sleep have been few and far between. Combeferre is always very careful not to cross any lines; he is positive Azelma knows what he is hiding, what he’s <em>been</em> hiding for nine years, but she hasn’t said a peep, and he isn’t keen to give her reason to. And Courf seems happy, more himself than he’s been in a while. Heaven forbid ‘Ferre be the one to fuck that up.</p>
<p>University has been great in so many ways – they’re back together at the same school again after all, even if ‘Ferre isn’t studying to be a lawyer like the rest of them – but it hasn’t been easy. Enj is constantly fighting with his parents (they’re constantly threatening to withdraw their support), and the group that they cobbled together throughout high school has had its fair share of drama, from overnight stays in cells to fights over Marius Pontmercy of all people(!)</p>
<p>And of course, the car accident that took Courfeyrac’s mom away from them too soon. Combeferre knows this time of year especially reminds his friend about it. Remembering how hollowed out Courfeyrac was in his grief sets ‘Ferre’s own chest to burning. He tightens his hold on the shoulder that isn’t pressed close against his own, using his free hand to brush back the unruly curls that have fallen into Courf’s face. ‘Ferre just can’t help himself – he’s always been weak -  so now he’s questioning if this is what Azelma feels for his friend. Because ‘Ferre feels like he might implode in on himself at any moment. Is all love like that? He isn’t sure.</p>
<p> He hasn’t ever let himself get close enough to Courf to think about kissing him, let alone gone through with that…dream. But here, in this moment, with no one else on the shuttle but the driver to see, with Courfeyrac upturning his sleeping face at just the right time, a soft dreamy smile stealing over his lips… Combeferre is far <em>far</em> too weak for his own good – he lets the moment overtake him and presses a soft kiss to Courfeyrac’s forehead. Can’t even bring himself to regret it.</p>
<p>“If you were mine, I think the strength of my feelings would still eat me up,” Combeferre whispers hoarsely into the hair of the man he loves. “So, really, it’s better that you will never love me like that. ‘Cause what would I do with myself if you did?” He leans back to gaze at the sleeping face. It’s so exhausted and pale, but so familiar and so very peaceful in this moment. Courf’s eyelashes are (if this is even possible) darker than his hair, full and thick. They cut an absolutely delicious, graceful line across the ends of his eyelids.</p>
<p><em>Like chiaroscuro</em>, Combeferre thinks. <em>Like charcoal on white paper. Maybe you’ll rub off on me because I am too close and everyone will see that I carry a piece of you with me always</em>. Then he rubs his eyes with his free hand. <em>Jesus. How tired am <span class="u">I</span>?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>And how much time have I spent with Feuilly that I know how charcoal behaves?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>How melodramatic are you planning on being tonight, Brain?</em>
</p>
<p>It’s not as if Courfeyrac’s ever said he wasn’t gay, but it’s not as if he’s said otherwise either. And if he hasn’t by now, after ‘Ferre came out as gay, then Enj came out as asexual and homoromantic, ‘Ferre doesn’t think Courf has a reason to. He’s past arguing himself into and out of extraneous hope. It’s all pent-up sorrow and pining now, because what else can you do when you’re in love with your straight best friend who is dating someone else?</p>
<p>He pulls himself out of his whirlpool thoughts as the shuttle pulls up to the front of the university residence.</p>
<p>“Courf, come on, we’re here.” One melty brown eye opens, and then, slowly, the other follows.</p>
<p>“Already?” he croaks. Combeferre nods.</p>
<p>“Come on,” he repeats, nudging his friend with his shoulder. “I’m starving. I’ll let you sleep on the couch while I make dinner.” Courfeyrac’s burnt-out eyes light up at that, and Combeferre’s heart and thoughts suddenly seem several tons lighter.</p>
<p><em>It could be worse</em>, he thinks later that evening as he waits for the water to boil, watching Courfeyrac snuggle into place on the couch. He beams one last bright smile at ‘Ferre, who smiles back with the freest of warmth, before Courf closes his heavy eyes once again. <em>Much worse</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Drink With Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Drunken and late night bombshells are never fun, but they can be conducive to watching one's best friend and life-long crush sleep on one's couch.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>One Year Ago</em>
</p><p>It’s late when ‘Ferre’s phone rings, so it takes him a while to pull himself out of the depths of sleep far enough to register what the noise is. He doesn’t do it fast enough to reach the phone while it’s still ringing and lies back down. <em>If it’s an emergency, they’ll call again</em>. The phone rings again and Combeferre is up like a flash, the impending thought of who or what it might be overriding his exhaustion (the company Combeferre keeps is prone to trouble, one might say, and ‘Ferre would say they were right.) The caller ID says ‘Courf’ and his heart rate skyrockets.</p><p>“Hello? Courf, what is it?”</p><p>“ ‘Ferre.” His friend’s voice is quiet, laden with emotions Combeferre isn’t awake enough to identify, and just possibly slurred. “Can I come over?”</p><p>Courfeyrac’s voice is definitely slurred. Combeferre puts off thinking about why for later.</p><p>“Yes of course! Where are you? I’ll come get you.”</p><p>“No need.” A wry chuckle. “I’m outside the front door.” So ‘Ferre grabs his glasses, stands, and goes to buzz his friend in. As he’s hovering by the door, his eye catches on the clock above the stove. It’s almost four in the morning – thank God it’s a Saturday.</p><p>Combeferre can’t help his thoughts from ricocheting about his brain. Why is Courf here? What has happened? Because something clearly has, and the thought of Courf being in any amount of pain is just shy of unbearable. The thought of Courf being in pain and specifically seeking Combeferre out for aid pushes the threshold of unbearable to new levels, because apparently <em>this</em> is bearable, but it sucks quite a bit. It really fucking sucks.</p><p>There’s a sloppy knock at the apartment door, to the rhythm of ‘shave and a haircut, two bits.’ Combeferre flings it open, and there is Courfeyrac, with bloodshot eyes and mussed hair and a coat that is falling off his shoulder. He stumbles past his friend to collapse onto the couch, head in his hands. Combeferre isn’t sure what to do, which is a feeling he despises; all he can hear through the dark is his heart threatening to pump out of his chest.</p><p>“Courf?”</p><p>No response. Combeferre falters for a moment, but then decides to turn the kettle on for himself and pours a glass of water for his friend. He’s just stirring in his sugar when Courfeyrac finally speaks:</p><p>“Azelma broke up with me.”</p><p>The mug almost crashes to the floor, but Combeferre gets a hold of it. If only he could get a hold of his heartbeat as readily (if he thought it was going to jump out of his chest before…)</p><p>“What?” in an outraged whisper is all he can manage. There are a few things that seem impossible to Combeferre – Enjolras realizing Grantaire’s true feelings for him, Gavroche <em>ever not</em> being a ray of grubby sunshine, Combeferre himself <em>ever not</em> loving Courfeyrac – and Azelma breaking up with Courfeyrac is one of them. They’ve been together since the end of everyone’s’ first degrees. It’s been five years. Combeferre has seen the pair of them survive almost everything life could throw at two people. So what on Earth could have happened?</p><p>He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything as he hands Courfeyrac the water. Courf downs half the glass and then leans back into the couch, closing his eyes. He’s so beautiful, even now - more sloshed than Combeferre has seen since high school - and <em>fuck</em> Combeferre loves him. He really does. It takes everything within him to simply rest his hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder and not ask any questions, but he knows Courfeyrac (better than almost anyone, except Enjolras maybe.) If Courf wants to speak, he will.</p><p>It takes him a while, so long ‘Ferre thinks he must have fallen asleep, but then he finally does say something. He mumbles it without opening his eyes and Combeferre has to ask him to repeat himself.</p><p>“Told her I thought I might be pansexual,” Courf moans.</p><p>“Oh!” Combeferre takes that like a bullet to the chest. And then he decides he can digest that news later when things aren’t falling apart as much as they are right now. And then he is consumed by so much anger he doesn’t recognize it within himself. If Azelma thinks she can pass judgement on Courfeyrac just because he’s apparently still figuring out his sexuality…</p><p>“That’s not why she broke up with me, ‘Ferre, so you can stop mauling my shoulder.” Combeferre didn’t even realize he was digging his fingers into Courf’s very malleable shoulder.</p><p>“Sorry.” ‘Ferre tries to pull his hand away but Courfeyrac stops him by grabbing him around the wrist. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but Combeferre freezes like a deer in headlights. Then Courf tugs him forward so he ends up sitting beside him on the couch instead of in the armchair (his tea sloshes a bit onto the rug, but Combeferre has never cared less.)</p><p>“She broke up with me…” Courfeyrac seems to have trouble getting the words out. He scrunches his eyes shut, classic Courfeyrac speak for ‘I’ve spent so much time crying this out that the tears should be all gone by now but they’re not.’ Combeferre knows that face all too well. “She broke up with me,” Courfeyrac tries again, “because she thinks I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”</p><p>He’s still got his hand around Combeferre’s wrist; Combeferre’s been afraid to move his hand in case it makes Courf startle, but Courf moves first in the end. He maneuvers his grip so he is now clutching at ‘Ferre’s hand.</p><p>
  <em>Calm down, Combeferre. You guys have held hands plenty of times before. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal!</em>
</p><p>It shouldn’t be – Courfeyrac is very affectionate and hand-holding goes along with that for him. But it’s been so very long since they have, since Combeferre has felt free enough to. And it is so very late (early) and so very dark. And in light of what Courf just said…</p><p>“Are you?” Combeferre whispers. “Are you in love with someone else?” He can’t breathe, but at least it’s dark so Courf can’t tell as easily.</p><p>Courfeyrac gives ‘Ferre’s hand an almost-so-tight-it’s-painful squeeze, then lets it go violently. “Yes. No. Don’t know.” He finally looks at Combeferre and the desperation in his eyes cuts through the dark, through all the muscle and bone and sinew in Combeferre’s chest and just makes its merry way right on into his heart. “I’ve only just figured out that I’m attracted to people other than women, I don’t know how I feel about other humans right now, let alone if I love anyone other than my… than Azelma!”</p><p>Combeferre plucks up the courage to lean his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder in what he hopes is a gesture of comfort. Combeferre is a couple inches taller than his friend, but that height must be all in his legs because his head rests in the hollow between Courfeyrac’s neck and shoulder perfectly.</p><p>“Well,” he says, “I think you’d have some idea of whether you were in love with someone else.”</p><p>
  <em>It hit me the moment you won our chess competition in seventh grade. You were so happy to finally have beaten me you sent the game set sprawling onto the floor with your celebratory dance. I couldn’t admit to myself until later what feeling <span class="u">exactly</span> hit me but hit me it did. Like a goddamn freight train.</em>
</p><p>“But that’s just it. I never thought what I felt for… this person was romantic.” Courfeyrac’s head drops into his hands. His words are less slurred now, more full sentences. “I’m not sure what I feel. I’m not sure of anything. But,” he raises his head to look to Combeferre (holding onto any lifeline as long as he can), “I think what I…<em>whatever</em> I feel for this person is stronger than what I feel for Azelma.” Combeferre’s face must convey his incredulity at that. “We’ve just been exhausting each other of late, ‘Ferre. We’ve got no patience. We’ve worked through so much before this, I thought we would continue to work through this together. I thought we both <em>wanted</em> to be together. But I…Azelma. Tonight. She said she didn’t want to, didn’t have it in her to ‘work through this’ again.”</p><p><em>Again?</em> Combeferre thinks, his heart breaking and remoulding itself over and over in a perfect cycle. <em>Again???</em></p><p>“She’s exhausted. She’s been exhausted for so long it’s her default. And frankly, it’s mine too. <em>Fuck</em>.” Combeferre notes the rebel tears leaking out the sides of his friend’s shut eyes. Courfeyrac scrubs them away with the back of his palm – they’re rebels and no longer welcome - and finishes off his water. “How could I not have seen how tired we both were?”</p><p>Combeferre is wondering how he could have missed that as well. He’s wondering when the joy Azelma brought Courf had to be negotiated through life, when it tapered off into exhaustion and effort. He’s wondering if he could pinpoint a moment in time where that occurred. He’s wondering if anyone else has noticed, if anyone else knows now.</p><p>“I don’t know, Courf,” is all he finally says. But Courfeyrac nods like that, if not satisfies him, at least absolves him of immediate guilt. “And now that you’re no longer flat-out drunk,” Combeferre continues, “I say you should get some sleep.”</p><p>Courf doesn’t even protest. He shrugs out of his jacket to head to the bathroom. ‘Ferre goes to grab blankets and a pillow because he knows how pointless it is to try and persuade Courfeyrac to use his bed. When he comes back, Courfeyrac is already curled up on the couch, curls askew, mouth drooping open like it has so many times before on this very couch (a present from Combeferre’s mother when he was accepted into med school.)</p><p>‘Ferre’s head is a churning whirlpool. He grabs the glasses, rinsing them both out at the sink just for something (anything) to do. He knows, knows with the supposed ‘common sense voice’ his friends have relied on so many times, that he should go to bed. Even if he just stares up at the ceiling with the old water stains from the apartment above. But he also knows he doesn’t want to do that.</p><p>And sometimes Combeferre gets so fed up of being the reasonable one of the group. There’s only so much reason to go around in a group like theirs; dispensing it consistently is wearisome. Sometimes there’s a voice that rises above the ‘common sense voice,’ a voice that shouts instead of always replying in a carefully measured tone.</p><p>So ‘Ferre doesn’t go back to bed. He sits there and watches one of his best friends sleep on his faded couch, under his one scratchy blanket that Courf likes against all odds. He tries to sit there and go back to the feeling of ‘desolate pinning’ he is so familiar with instead of this new taste in the back of his throat. His ‘common sense voice’ tells him hope (which tastes like a sour candy, all sticky and sugary) will be the most painful thing yet. But tonight is not going to be a night that common sense wins out.</p><p>He sits and he watches Courfeyrac sleep through what remains of the night with that taste crowding his mouth.</p><p>When the sunrays begin to peek in underneath Combeferre’s pink blinds (a gift from Jehan) they highlight Courf’s familiar face. That sight, his pale face and black hair set in the morning sun, flays ‘Ferre’s heart open like it’s going to be roasted over a spit (he’s not very sure it won’t be, what with hope fluttering around in there now.) Because the hope is still very much present, even as his heart splits open to welcome the sun’s rays.</p><p>The hope is still there when Courfeyrac opens his beautiful eyes and offers to make chocolate chip waffles for breakfast.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oooooh! The angst is fun to share. Thanks to everyone who commented, I really appreciate hearing your thoughts even if they are just screams of agony about the pining. Enjoy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Here's to You and Here's to Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some good, some bad, some ugly, and...some payoffs(?) occur for Combeferre and Courfeyrac at their friend's wedding.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Three Months Ago</em>
</p>
<p>It’s not as if there’s never been another man besides Courfeyrac in Combeferre’s life. There’ve been times, two, to be exact, where Combeferre thought there might even be loves greater than that of his unrequited love for his friend. They hadn’t panned out, for reasons other than his feelings for Courf. And that had almost been worse, hadn’t it? That Combeferre had personal issues to deal with on top of his hidden feelings? (He wishes he was half so well-adjusted as his friends thought he was.)</p>
<p>No, what he really wishes right now is that this latest break up had been like that, with real feelings and real problems. He wishes he could take back the whole of it, that whole… <em>façade</em> with Montparnasse.</p>
<p>Combeferre scrubs a long-fingered hand over his face. Perhaps the gin and tonics had been too much. They’d only inflamed the ache of his entire being when he glanced at Courf tearing it up on the dance floor, not dulled it like he’d so hoped.</p>
<p>He’d been holding himself together so well too. Everyone’s happiness and well-wishes for Marius and Cosette on their special day had allowed him to ride above his regret. The only person who’d asked about ‘Parnasse was poor Bossuet, ever the last to know about things through no fault of his own.  Joly’s apoplectic face as he pulled his boyfriend away had almost made it worth it anyway. Combeferre tries to laugh at the recollection, and he half-succeeds.</p>
<p>A loud laugh from Courfeyrac on the dance floor drowns out ‘Ferre’s half-hearted attempt. The Center has convinced the bride and groom to compete in a dance-off, and by the looks of things Marius is badly losing to his new wife. He doesn’t seem to mind though, pink from alcohol and exertion and from smiling so wide.</p>
<p>“Are you doing ok, buddy?” Combeferre tears his gaze away from Courf’s flailing frame to face Bahorel. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, just takes a swig of his latest drink. “That good? Wow.”</p>
<p>‘Ferre winces, at the taste and the sentiment, then gestures to the floor. “What about you? Also not feeling up to it?”</p>
<p>Of everyone still at the reception, they are the only ones sitting the dancing out. Grantaire is even leading his new boyfriend around the floor in a slow waltz, despite the music being up-tempo. Enjolras’ smile is telling everyone he doesn’t mind R being in the lead for just this once.</p>
<p>Bahorel holds up his own glass. “I’m not much for dancing without any juice behind it, and well…” Combeferre nods. Better for Bahorel to stay away from that kind of juice, they all know that. He wishes he had also kept his distance, but it seemed a good idea at the time.</p>
<p>Combeferre feels his eyes magnetically drawn back to Courfeyrac, always back to Courfeyrac. He cannot seem to help it; the lavender shirt Courf is wearing isn’t leaving much to the imagination either.</p>
<p>Bahorel grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him in tight. “I’m sure it’s for the better, you and Montparnasse ending.”</p>
<p>‘Ferre snorts so hard he feels the burn of the gin in his esophagus. “I really wish that was what’s bothering me.”</p>
<p>“Ah. Right.” Bahorel follows his wayward gaze to a certain someone on the dance floor. ‘Ferre is sure it’s obvious; it was obvious enough to Montparnasse. Enj has known for God knows how long and both Cosette and Eponine have tried to interrogate Combeferre over it on multiple occasions.</p>
<p>“I’m such an idiot,” he says. The drink sloshes over his hand from his vehement gesture. It hurts in his gut, this admission, but he feels it has to be true. He can’t look back at Bahorel, he can’t look anywhere but at the man who’s held his heart and his hope hostage for far too long.</p>
<p>“Maybe. About this at least.”</p>
<p>Combeferre’s head does turn to his friend at <em>that</em>. “Gee, thanks B. That makes me feel a whole lot better?”</p>
<p>“You said it, not me.”  Bahorel is watching Courf dance with a gleam in his eye; Combeferre can’t help but feel like his friend is laughing at him.</p>
<p>He feels an argument on the boil inside him. “Well, maybe this time through with ‘Parnasse.” <em>Admit your faults first</em>. “But I’ll have you know, I usually have stellar social intelligence.” <em>State your case</em>. “I helped Courf help Marius propose, I’ve listened to more than my fair share of Jehan <em>and</em> Feuilly <em>and</em> Joly’s individual love struggles, and, <em>and</em>: I convinced Enjolras to say yes when R finally asked him out.” <em>Back up your case with evidence and sources</em>. “I think that’s a pretty good track record, don’t you?” <em>Then finally, close neatly</em>.</p>
<p>He finishes his impassioned tirade and looks over to see Bahorel sniggering.</p>
<p>“There we are. You sound like Combeferre again, not the mopey man drowning in his self-pity I first saw over here.” Bahorel claps him on the back. ‘Ferre feels his face heat up, but he smiles sheepishly back at him anyway. Maybe he’s a fool about more than just unrequited feelings.</p>
<p>“Alright, I get it. Thanks, B.”</p>
<p>Bahorel squeezes him again. “Don’t mention it. Think I’m gonna turn in now, if you don’t mind.”</p>
<p>That’s the best idea Combeferre has heard in a while.</p>
<p>He’s just gotten out of his suit and into his pajama pants when there comes a knock on the door. At first, ‘Ferre thinks he’s just imagining it – the digital alarm clock says it’s only one in the morning, which is still early for the partiers in the Amis – but then the knocking comes again, louder, more insistent.</p>
<p>“Coming!” he shouts, a little louder than perhaps necessary. Combeferre just barely remembers to throw on a t-shirt (he is never drinking this much gin again in his life) before jerking the door open to see…</p>
<p>“Courf?” The man in question is rocking back and forth on his feet and when he sees ‘Ferre, the rocking intensifies.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac has his suit jacket in his hand and at least two more buttons undone on his (purple!) shirt then when Combeferre saw him last and Combeferre is really regretting the drinks now because he almost swears out loud. It’s all he can do to tear his eyes away from the exposed skin when Courf asks “Can I come in?” as if the answer is or has ever been no. ‘Ferre doesn’t trust himself to say that coherently so he steps back to open the door wider.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t sound like the party is winding down at all,” he finally says as he’s closing the door again. “Why’d you come upstairs?”</p>
<p>“Eh. Being the life of the party gets exhausting.” Courfeyrac flashes him a conspiratorial grin, “And Marius and Cosette disappeared behind the base of the waterfall about half an hour ago. Took that as my cue to leave. I’m surprised E and R didn’t beat them to it!” Combeferre makes a face but he is smiling. Courfeyrac smiles right back.</p>
<p>Then his gaze drops to the floor and all of the sudden there is a layer of awkwardness that has never once, not <em>once</em>, in all their years, been there before. Combeferre takes a step toward his friend, then:</p>
<p>“I actually came up here to talk to you…I feel like we haven’t really had a chance to talk since it all went down with ‘Parnasse…”</p>
<p>‘Ferre isn’t able to stop the curse from slipping out this time.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>He scrubs his hand over his face, hoping that will help clear his head.  “I just.”</p>
<p>Courf is looking at him again, and it’s making it even harder to get the words out around the guilt and the burn and his roasted-over-a-spit heart.</p>
<p>“You just what?”</p>
<p>“I just had too much to drink tonight and I’m really tired and not in the mood for this right now, so if you want we can,”</p>
<p>“ ‘Ferre…”</p>
<p> “…talk in the morning, but could you just <em>go</em> now,”</p>
<p>“No, ‘Ferre, come on!” It’s Courf that takes the step this time,</p>
<p>“so I can have some water and maybe actually sleep and,”</p>
<p>“Combeferre!”</p>
<p>Combeferre finally stops. The shock does a better job of sobering him up than anything else has so far.</p>
<p>“What?” he says to Courf’s exasperated face. “What do you want to talk about? There’s nothing to say, he ended it with me, I knew he was going to and believe me he had good reasons, I’ve told you all this before…”</p>
<p>Courfeyrac’s suit jacket is going to finish the night destroyed from all the twisting he’s putting it through. “ ‘Ferre everyone’s worried. <em>I’m</em> worried and I have the advantage of knowing you almost a decade longer than most of them do!”</p>
<p>“I’m fine!” Combeferre bursts out. He turns away and then turns back furiously (there isn’t enough space to avoid those damn eyes in this damn room!) His frustration is mounting. “I told you…”</p>
<p>“No! You didn’t!” At ‘Ferre’s pointed look, Courfeyrac amends, “I mean you did tell me, but you called Enjolras the night it happened. <em>Enjolras</em>! Over <em>me</em>!”</p>
<p>More shock is another pail of water thrown to help with sobriety. “Is that what this is about?” Combeferre asks. “That I went to Enj first…?”</p>
<p>“No! No, no, no, it’s not…” Courf takes a deep breath, pulls his hands through his hair, tries again. “It’s not what you think.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Isn’t it?” Combeferre feels the frustration begin to override whatever parts of his brain are sober, feels the <em>years</em> of hopeless pining and the last few months of hopeless <em>hope</em> sloshing around with the gin. “Do enlighten me then.”</p>
<p>“I just want to talk to you, ‘Ferre. I want to <em>talk</em>. I want to talk to my best friend, who I feel like I haven’t seen or heard from much at all in the last five months!” He says it all so desperately, waving his hands and then pushing them through his curls again; he’s thrown his jacket somewhere behind him, ‘Ferre can’t see where, and it’s just too much. Now he has two sets of guilt eating through his esophagus. Or maybe it’s just the one, one terrible stream of hope-born guilt that Combeferre can mass into a ball in his stomach to digest later as soon as he gets. Courfeyrac. Out OF HERE!</p>
<p>It is true, he has been avoiding Courfeyrac. After months had gone by since Azelma and Courf’s break up, months since that night at his apartment, months since Courf had admitted there was someone out there that he “felt more strongly for” than who he’d thought was the love of his life, Combeferre’s hope had turned sour. He’d made himself face the fact that he wasn’t that person - or that Courf hadn’t meant it, or didn’t remember, or any number of alternative and very plausible facts - and decided to do his best to put his romantic feelings aside. Combeferre had thought that might’ve meant seeing him less for a few months, but then Montparnasse happened and…well, now he was facing it all over again after his catastrophic attempt at a distraction relationship had failed. And here at Marius and Cosette’s wedding too!</p>
<p>“Do you really have nothing to say?”</p>
<p>He really doesn’t.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac comes forward again; now there isn’t a single piece of hotel furniture standing between them.</p>
<p>“Combeferre, please,” he says, in the gentlest tone ‘Ferre thinks he’s ever heard him use. “Please talk to me. I want to help! I can see you’re hurting, about ‘Parnasse or…”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to talk about Montparnasse!” Combeferre shouts. “I don’t want to talk about him, not tonight or to anyone here, but most definitely not to you!”</p>
<p>And <em>fuck</em> that hadn’t come out at all how Combeferre wanted it to.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac looks like a startled pup. He looks down, shakes his head, takes one hesitant step forward, and is then striding for the door like his life depends on it.</p>
<p>Combeferre slowly sinks down on the edge of the bed, just needing to feel something semi-solid beneath him. He thinks he wants to cry but can’t muster the breath or the energy. He buries his head in his hands, waiting to hear the terminal door slam. It never does.</p>
<p>“Combeferre, I…” ‘Ferre’s head whips up so fast he nearly collides with Courfeyrac’s chin. They both recoil. Then Courf tries to speak again. He’s just standing there, fiddling with his hands nervously in absence of his jacket, and something in Combeferre’s roasted heart sputters back into existence.</p>
<p>“I wanted to talk about Montparnasse because…there’s something I’ve been trying to tell you for months now and I…” he bites his lip. “Do you remember the night of Jehan’s exhibition? I called you?” The switch in trajectory isn’t helping Combeferre feel less confused, but he nods. “You said you couldn’t make it ‘cause you were sick but that was a lie,” <em>Yeah, another thing to feel guilty about</em>, “because you’d just gone on your third date with Montparnasse. When I called you told me he’d asked you to be his boyfriend.” ‘Ferre nods again, because Courf is looking at him with those melty brown eyes and with his shirt still unbuttoned, and because Combeferre can’t think enough to do anything else.</p>
<p>“Well. I called that night because Jehan told me where you really were after I…after we’d had a talk and I wanted to…<em>needed</em> to tell you…” he trails off yet again. Combeferre can see his pulse jumping in his neck. “Fuck it! Here it goes!” Courfeyrac grabs ‘Ferre’s hands and pulls him to standing; they’re almost chest to chest. Courf has to hold his elbows out to the sides to keep their hands clasped because there is literally no extra room between them, not with the table behind Courf and the bed behind Combeferre. <em>What the actual fuck is happening</em>? Combeferre thinks, the first full thought he’s had since Courf didn’t leave like he’d expected him to.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac licks his lips, then blows air through them slowly. “I called that night to tell you I’d…I’d figured it out, that I love you like I’ve loved no one else, yes, <em>romantically</em>,” (at Combeferre’s befuddled and amazed look) “and that Azelma was right, right about everything, but I was the idiot who’d taken too goddamn long to figure that out, it wasn’t until Jehan…and I had to call you when I found out you’d gone out with ‘Parnasse again, before it was too late, but then I called and it <em>was</em>…”</p>
<p>Combeferre belatedly recalls the details of that night: tipsy on wine from dinner and high on the fact that Montparnasse had asked him to be his boyfriend, that someone wanted him even if Courfeyrac didn’t, except now it turned out that…</p>
<p>“…And so now Montparnasse is gone and I’m sorry to ambush you like this at a wedding of all places but I had to tell you and I had no guarantee I would see you anywhere else before now because you <em>have </em>been avoiding me and I’m sorry I’m so sorry so very very sor - !”</p>
<p>Combeferre lets go of Courf’s admittedly (very) sweaty hands and grabs his (very) silky shirt and mashes their faces together so hard he thinks he might have drawn blood?</p>
<p>But boy has that never mattered less.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac freezes for barely half a second before his hands wind around Combeferre’s body, one going to tangle in the ends of his hair and the other to rest on the small of his back. He pulls Combeferre even closer; ‘Ferre  can’t help but let out a small moan. For a split second, Combeferre allows himself to get lost in the feel of Courf’s lips on his and his hands holding ‘Ferre so tenderly and the hair that ‘Ferre has always adored and <em>oh God</em>.</p>
<p><em>How can this be happening, be better than I ever dreamed?</em> Then, he realizes he’s still clutching at Courfeyrac’s shirt. He lets go and rests his hands on Courf’s muscled shoulders, using them as leverage to pull his lips away – there’s no other way he would manage to do that, he’s sure.</p>
<p>And then there they are. Just holding each other in Combeferre’s hotel room.</p>
<p>“<em>You’re</em> sorry?” ‘Ferre whispers. He’s smiling so wide he thinks his face might just stay like that (which has the complete opposite affect of that tested and true mother threat – he’d be more than ok if it did.) “You’re? Sorry?” Courf giggles. His face is flushed and his hair is a right mess (from Combeferre’s! Hands!) but he’s never looked more radiant. “I’m sorry you ever had to think ‘Parnasse was anything more than an attempt at distracting me from you, and a shit one at that.” Combeferre rests their foreheads together because he can now and Courfeyrac closes his melting-pot eyes and Combeferre’s heart splits down the middle for the second time.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says once again, meaning it more than he could mean anything else right now. “I’m sorry I wasted all that time, I…”</p>
<p>Courfeyrac cuts him off with another messy kiss. His tongue pushes past Combeferre’s teeth and ‘Ferre fucking <em>whimpers</em>. Then Courf is pulling back and they’re both panting, chests rising and falling together.</p>
<p>“No more apologies,” he declares.</p>
<p>Then he pushes Combeferre back and onto the bed.</p>
<p>Combeferre wakes up with a start. He’s never understood how it works when characters fall asleep someplace new or strange in fiction and they wake up not knowing where they are; he’s never had that problem himself.</p>
<p>No, he wakes up violently, the last vestiges of some unpleasant dream leaving his memory, but he most definitely remembers where he is and everything that happened before he fell asleep.</p>
<p>He just can’t quite believe it.</p>
<p>To think this was how his night was going to turn out…And he’d been dreading this wedding reception with the very fibers of his being!</p>
<p>Combeferre registers the strong, warm arms he’s encased in. Has he ever felt this alive? Can’t think of another time, no. He reaches down with his mouth to kiss the hand wrapping around the front of his chest (it’s easy to find even in the dark because Courf is so warm and his paler hand stands out against Combeferre’s own brown skin.)(How in the world is this happening, you ask? ‘Ferre has no idea either. He sort of feels like he’s moving in a dream.)</p>
<p>They will certainly have some explaining to do in the morning – no one will believe they didn’t ‘sleep’ together after this, even though it was just a lot of long overdue making out and talking – but Combeferre finds he can’t quite bring himself to care.</p>
<p>He turns over in Courf’s arms, jostling him awake a little. There is no way of avoiding that and ‘Ferre mostly just wants to marvel at the face he loves most as he falls back asleep.</p>
<p>“Wha…?” Courf murmurs. He manages to blink one eye open but can’t quite get the other one to follow suit. “Mmmbbbeferre?”</p>
<p>“Sh, don’t worry. Woke up from a dream and wanted to see you is all.”</p>
<p>Courfeyrac closes his one eye and pushes his face flat into his pillow. “Should’a known you’d be real sentimental ‘bout all this,” is what ‘Ferre can make out through the pillow, but given the warmth and the dreamy sigh in Courf’s voice, he doesn’t think the other man minds. He pushes himself up on his elbow, carefully avoiding Courf’s arms. At the sight of Courfeyrac’s long curls, Combeferre has an impulse. Since he’s allowed now (invited, even!) to follow through on his impulses where Courf is concerned… ‘Ferre brushes his hand through the curls around Courf’s ear and Courf hums happily when he tucks them behind. Now that’s a sound Combeferre doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.</p>
<p>“Damn right I’m sentimental,” he breathes, resting his hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “I’ve been in love with you since the seventh grade.” It’s supposed to sound all romantic and sweet, and it does, but Courf sits up like he’s been electrocuted.</p>
<p>“Wait, what?”</p>
<p>Combeferre’s arm freezes where it is on Courf’s shoulder, making for a very awkward pose with Courf sitting all the way up. <em>Did I come on too strong with that? Did I freak him out? </em>But now, he wants to be honest even at the expense of freaking Courfeyrac out.</p>
<p>‘Ferre sits up all the way so they’re facing each other cross-legged on the bed. “I…I’ve been in love with you since you were fourteen and I was thirteen? You remember how weird and clingy I was that year?” Courfeyrac is staring at him, but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking through the early morning dark and the absence of glasses. “I only figured it out when you won that chess match but…yeah…” he trails off helplessly.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Courf is quiet and hoarse from sleep and disbelief.</p>
<p>“I dunno. It seemed…impossible? And when I came out, then Enj did, and you didn’t I guess I just assumed…” Combeferre watches Courf shake his head, just barely able to make out a small smile on his lips.</p>
<p>“Guess I don’t blame you. I also just assumed I was straight! For almost twenty-eight years!” ‘Ferre bursts out laughing and Courfeyrac joins him – it takes them a while to calm down enough to feel the absurdity of the hour once more. They lie back down, Courf still giggling and Combeferre feeling a burst of happiness at the thought of many more hours of making him laugh in the future. Courf finally stops giggling, and as he does, he grabs ‘Ferre’s hand and kisses it like ‘Ferre himself had done when he’d first woken up.</p>
<p>“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre asks, before their eyes slip shut agin.</p>
<p>“Yes, Combeferre?” There is still a laugh present in that voice.</p>
<p>“Now that I’m not as plastered, do you think we could try that goodnight kiss again?”</p>
<p>That brings the full laugh out once more, but it’s muffled by a terribly sweet and utterly gentle and <em>completely</em> unmatched goodnight (morning) kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you, A_Butter_Churner, my darling commenter, are pleased! There is still a little more to come!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Life About to Start</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The world has been less than kind in the past, but on this reflective morning when we catch up with Combeferre, he wouldn't change a thing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Now</em>
</p>
<p>Combeferre blinks one eye open and then the other. Streams of sunlight are pushing through the gap in Courf’s daisy chain curtains (not a gift from Jehan, but one he certainly approved of) but it doesn’t look to be too bright yet. ‘Ferre rolls towards the center of the bed with a smile slipping across his face. He could get up to make some coffee, the thought does cross his mind, but he’s not ready to just yet.</p>
<p>Just because he gets to watch his boyfriend sleep on the regular doesn’t mean he’s gotten tired of or used to it yet. He can’t imagine he ever will.</p>
<p>Courf is curling into the center of the bed. He’s always slept with his hand pillowed under his head since they were children (the notable exception being when he’s holding Combeferre, of course) and he’s doing it now. It makes him seems smaller, even though he’s only a few inches shorter than ‘Ferre. Two of his black curls are falling right down the middle of his face. They’re so long they almost cover his nose, which is still a nose to make all the Middle Age sculptors wonder how the Greeks and Romans crafted such beauty. Combeferre wants to pull on the curls, but he manages to restrain himself. Barely.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac is growing his hair out even longer than usual right now; the plan is to grow it out as long as he can before the summer, then chop it off really short and donate the ends to charity. Combeferre is a fan of the plan for many reasons, not the least of which is that Courf’s even longer hair is <em>driving ‘Ferre crazy</em>.</p>
<p>Well, anything and everything Courfeyrac is or does drives Combeferre crazy. But now, he can tug on the curls and admire the nose and kiss the curve of the mouth…or the chin…or where the eyelids become eyelashes, almost any time he wants to.</p>
<p>Courf lets out a little puff of air that sends his wayward curls fluttering. ‘Ferre shuffles a little closer – sometimes they fall asleep so close together that he wakes up feeling Courf’s sleep-warm breath on his face. Then ‘Ferre is reminded of that sleepover from fourteen years ago, when he was so afraid of the change coming their way.</p>
<p><em>God, if we’d known half of what was coming</em>…It’s strange to look back on all the things life has thrown at the pair of them. It’s strange to look back on the Combeferre he was and the Courfeyrac his boyfriend was four, five, six years ago: the Courf who only dated girls and the ‘Ferre who made pasta dinners, who felt he could only risk longing glances when Courf was asleep. All the pain and pining and heartache feels like a bad dream while he’s facing the beautiful man beside him in bed.</p>
<p><em>Not that all of it has been bad</em>, Combeferre muses. Marius and Cosette are married, Enjolras and Grantaire are finally(!) dating, Eponine and Musichetta’s <span class="u">Young Girls Co</span>. is taking on the world, Bahorel is three years sober, Feuilly has one steady job now and paid off his mom’s debt, Joly and Bossuet are taking ballroom dance lessons in their spare time, Jehan is still giving curtains as gifts…<em>The last three months have especially been Not Bad as well</em>.</p>
<p>He mimes tracing the arches of Courfeyrac’s eyebrows, which are a shade lighter than his eyelashes and his hair. He’s heard Cosette and Eponine wail about how unfair it is that a guy has such pretty eyebrows, and though ‘Ferre wouldn’t say he’s an expert on the subject, he’d have to agree. <em>I love every shape I’ve seen you in</em>, he projects to his boyfriend. Then he gives himself over to marveling at the freckles and the lines and the sleep-sighs and the hair and the one small mole Courf has right below his left ear. He has nothing pressing to do this morning anyway.</p>
<p>Who knows how long he lies in bed like that, happy and warm and watching his boyfriend sleep. Certainly not Combeferre. Long enough for his bladder to start to protest. He rolls away and out of bed as quietly as he can, checking the alarm clock as he goes. It’s not even 9:30 yet.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac is stirring just as Combeferre comes back. “ ‘Ferre?” he murmurs.</p>
<p>“You want anything? Eggs, coffee?”</p>
<p>“Noooooooo.” He stretches, long and languid across the pillows. He’s wearing a red t-shirt the group made years ago, ‘Ferre thinks at least eight. It has “Les Amis de l’ABC” emblazoned in big white block letters. The edges of the letters are fading now from all the many washes. Combeferre is thinking how unfair it is that Courf looks this delectable first thing in the morning wearing a decade-old shirt when Courf pushes himself up onto his elbows. He gives ‘Ferre an almost shy smile.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Actually, there is something I want.” Combeferre raises an eyebrow at the amendment. “Come back to bed please?” Courfeyrac pleads, with big brown eyes and batted lashes and a soft earnest voice. ‘Ferre feels an actual starburst of happiness explode in his chest. It makes his insides feel all fizzy and sizzling, like the edges of fireworks fading off into the night. He takes a running leap from the door – the happiness firework carries him in a jump up onto the bed. He lands right beside Courf, his legs falling on top of his boyfriend’s.</p>
<p>Combeferre asks, “Is this acceptable?” Courfeyrac pretends to think, scrunching his long, sculpted nose adorably. He hasn’t even brushed the curls out of his face yet, so ‘Ferre takes care of that for him (he has no control when it comes to Courfeyrac’s hair.)</p>
<p>“Not quite,” Courf says. He snakes his left arm between Combeferre and the bed, throws his other arm around Combeferre’s shoulders, and pulls him as close as their bodies will allow. Courf then nestles his head into the hollow between ‘Ferre’s neck and his collarbone, humming softly as he does.</p>
<p>“There,” he whispers. “This is perfect.” He plants a tiny kiss on the skin above Combeferre’s clavicle and the burst of happiness ‘Ferre felt five seconds earlier is a children’s-craft-kit-sparkle compared to the fireworks and sparks firing through his chest <em>now</em>. Courfeyrac’s curls make for a perfect pillow, so ‘Ferre rests his cheek atop them, squeezing Courf against him even tighter.</p>
<p>They’re still for many moments, just <em>enjoying</em> the moment. Combeferre knows Courfeyrac hasn’t fallen back asleep because he can feel the whisper of Courf’s eyelashes against his shoulder every time Courf blinks.</p>
<p>“You ever think about how far we’ve come?” ‘Ferre whispers into the beloved black curls. He plants a kiss there before the question has barely left his mouth.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac sits up so he can look at Combeferre properly but sidles closer and leans them both back against their headboard. “Of course. Kinda hard not to.”</p>
<p>‘Ferre plants a kiss on the tip of Courf’s nose for good measure. “I’m glad we got here. I’m happy here.” He squeezes with the arm wrapped around Courfeyrac for emphasis.</p>
<p>“Me too.” Courf says it so simply and matter-of -fact that there isn’t room for a single argument or counter-point (not that ‘Ferre would want to argue this or doubt it, obviously.) Then he snickers. “God, there were times I thought I would never survive my feelings.”</p>
<p>Combeferre blanches. “I’m sorry, what?”</p>
<p>“Well you know,” Courf rests his head on ‘Ferre’s shoulder again. “Like when you were dating Montparnasse, for example.” He gestures with his free arm, lazy and expansive and vague.</p>
<p>‘Ferre lets out a loud HA! and Courf gazes up at him, managing to inject a healthy dose of hurt into his sleep-dazed, lazy Sunday morning eyes.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, ‘HA!’? That shit <em>hurt</em>, seeing you with another man.”</p>
<p>“No, I know it did, I just…” Combeferre can barely speak through the giggles, “It’s just…I’ve been pining for fifteen years and I watched you date girl after girl…”</p>
<p>- Courfeyrac is trying to make affronted noises, but ‘Ferre is on a roll -</p>
<p>“How many conversations did we have where you agonized about asking Azelma out? Huh? How many???” ‘Ferre is shaking his boyfriend with his one arm and pounding the mattress beside him with the other. “And <em>then,</em> how many of our dinner nights with Enjolras became us listening to you talk about how ‘she was definitely the one’ and how you could ‘see your children already’…”</p>
<p>“Hey, you defended me at those dinners!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, because it was to <em>Enjolras</em>. And,” he assumes a superior air and stares down at Courf, “I didn’t want to arouse your suspicion.”</p>
<p>Courfeyrac just shakes his head. “Ok, ok, I see your point,” he concedes. “But we can’t all have our heads and hearts as organized as you, babe. Not at thirteen.”</p>
<p>Combeferre spares a thought for lanky thirteen-year-old ‘Ferre – post length-growth spurt but pre width-growth spurt – watching Courfeyrac’s curly head of hockey hair bob around the math classroom in a victory dance. He remembers thinking: Fuck. Me.</p>
<p><em>Organized indeed</em>.</p>
<p>“For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I thought I was doomed to be alone because of how much I loved you, even when I was with ‘Parnasse.” Before Courfeyrac can look stricken at that admission, ‘Ferre brushes his hair back from his face further and kisses him. Courf kisses him back with the disarming simplicity that always steals ‘Ferre’s breath. He dissolves into the kiss.</p>
<p>When he wants to take back some control, Combeferre pulls away to kiss down Courfeyrac’s neck, enjoying the sounds he draws from his boyfriend’s mouth. He feels Courf melt beneath his hands and lips and prides himself on a job well done this morning.</p>
<p>When they come up for air, Courfeyrac states, “I love you,” in that broke-no-argument kind of way he has. He’s gazing up at ‘Ferre from his pillow. He looks small again, like something ‘Ferre can pick up and cradle to his chest. He looks larger than life, somehow, at the same time: he takes up all of Combeferre’s vision – if there were a tunnel, Courf wouldn’t just be the light at the end of it, he’d be the thing that lead ‘Ferre out in the first place. He looks perfect.</p>
<p>Combeferre feels his face split into a grin so wide it hurts his cheeks. “I love you too.” It’s a supernova of happiness that collapses this time, but it’s much gentler than the explosion of fireworks before; all this is just warmth and love. ‘Ferre can feel it pouring out him through his eyes and his smiling face. He can see it reflected back at him in the depths of Courf’s dimples and feel it in the curve of his hand cupping Combeferre’s cheek to draw him in for another kiss.</p>
<p>This kiss feels like the only slow dance ‘Ferre has ever had, at the hotel bar the day after Marius and Cosette’s wedding reception. It feels like three four time and crooning singing and the voices of their friends fading into the background. It feels like a dream…or, better than that. It feels like a promise of future dreams, dreams they will have together.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac’s stomach grumbling is what gets them up for breakfast. He pauses in their bedroom doorway and looks back to ‘Ferre putting on his slippers.</p>
<p>“For what it’s worth, Combeferre, you’re the ‘definite one’ I talk to Enj about now.”</p>
<p>“The ‘definite one’?” Combeferre repeats.</p>
<p>“The only one. ‘<em>Definitely the one</em>,’ and all that jazz.” There are more vague hand gestures, but there’s a blush and a lovely smile too.</p>
<p>Combeferre feels a lump form in his throat. Courf has always believed in that kind of love (he’s adorable like that) but ‘Ferre has never once allowed himself that luxury. He thinks he might be coming around to the allure of the idea.</p>
<p>“I’m sure Enjolras just loves hearing that,” he manages to choke out.</p>
<p>“It’s the price he pays for me listening to him gush about R,” Courf replies with a sassy toss of his hair. “And deep down he does love it, because he loves us, and he loves that I love you.”</p>
<p>Combeferre beams.</p>
<p>Then they head into the kitchen and, though it makes making breakfast infinitely more difficult, they manage to do it while holding hands the entire time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And thus concludes my Courferre project - is it possible to love these boys even more after writing them?</p>
<p>Thank you to all my commenters! I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did!</p>
<p>Stay tuned for some Barricade Day stuff to come ;)</p>
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